Memories....

Before I blogged (or even know what the word meant), I kept a Word file of writings called "Motherhood Musings". I had forgotten about it until I sat down to write report cards today. Procrastination leads me to weird things like searching through ancient word documents! Anyhow, before I get back to my reports, I'm going to copy a few of my favourite entries in to my blog...just for old times' sake!

As I blowdry my hair, feelings of guilt wash over me – Maddie is downstairs being babysat by Veggietales. I should be trying to potty train her – she’s probably wetting her pull-ups right now. Chelsea is sleeping – OK, no guilt there.
The dishes in the kitchen need to be put away and the carpet is in desperate need of a vacuum. I’m sure the kitchen floor is sticky and the mountain of ironing is building. I should be devising a system to deal with our bills and expenses. I’m not sure where the laundry is at but I know Maddie’s closet is looking empty. I need to get busy and make dessert for tonight and think about what to serve Saturday night. I have several phonecalls I need to make and I also need to go over my French lesson for this afternoon. I should really try to get some quality time in with the girls today – Chelsea needs lots of stimulation and Maddie just wants Mommy to “play house”. Exercise – yes, my body is in need of it. I’m not sure when I’ll fit that in. I should be making nutritious lunches for Maddie – baking wheat germ muffins and sugar free cookies for snacktimes. I think my nap is out of the question.

The blowdryer is silent. I look at my reflection in the mirror and wonder how it will all get done. The thought overwhelms me and I begin to cry. Lord, please give me strength – should that be my prayer? – just an extra dose of superwoman-like strength so I can accomplish everything and more. Maybe my prayer needs to go something like this:

Lord, please teach me about the important things in life. Please teach me that the beckoning of a two year old to “play, Mommy, play” is more important than a pile of laundry or a sticky floor. Remind me that my time for cuddling and rocking my baby is so short. Soon she’ll be off and running too. Help me to take time to listen to my husband – to listen with my heart. Teach me to hear your voice in the midst of the busyness – to be still and know that you are God.


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Why can’t you? Why don’t you? When will you? Didn’t I tell you?
The ugly sounds of criticism shower down

A small, vibrant spirit is slowly crippled by the
Onslaught of words
I see her eyelids lower and her tiny shoulders droop in self defeat
And I am made painfully aware of the power
Of my own tongue…

How could I forget how fragile and tender
She is?
How could I forget that her spirit
Is so easily crushed?

Lord, forgive me for those times when I lose control over my words and say things I shouldn’t. Make me the kind of mother whose eyes brighten when her children enter the room. Help me to overlook the dirty face and the untucked shirt – help me to see the beautiful spirit within and the amazing potential of my children. Words can build up or tear down. May my words be building ones…may they give confidence and trust, love and hope. May they be the words of Jesus for my children.


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Child-like faith

A small voice cuts through the humming of the car engine and the noise of busy traffic,
“Mommy, where does God live?”
I fumble my way through an answer that satisfies her 3 year old mind and wonder if I really know the answer myself…
“Mommy, will God take us all to heaven someday?”
It’s too early to get into heavy theology….”Oh yes,” I answer, “God wants everyone to be in heaven with him.”
“Even the soldiers, Mommy?” I don’t want to be in heaven with the soldiers
who hurt Jesus.”
I answer with something about forgiveness and wonder where her little mind is going with all these questions.

As I look into the rear view mirror, I see her upturned face looking out the car window.
“I really love God” I hear her say

I am struck by the sincerity of those words and by her child like faith .
The beauty of the Gospel becomes clear to me. A three year old in a car seat has reminded me of what really matters in my journey of faith – not the theological questions, not the wording of a creed, not denominations or church buildings.
“Do you love me?” is what He asks us.